Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

October 25, 1950, morning. Ryangsu Cave, North Korea.

The sun had just risen. Thick fog blanketed the valley, reducing visibility to less than fifty meters.

The 354th Regiment of the 118th Division of the 40th Army of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army was hiding in the mountains and forests.

They marched sixty li last night and just set up an ambush here.

Regiment Commander Zhou Huan squatted behind a rock, holding up binoculars—these were domestically made binoculars issued by Zhao Ping'an, capable of penetrating fog and measuring distances, and half a pound lighter than the American counterpart.

The sound of an engine could be heard through the fog.

First one, then two, then three... The black outlines gradually became clear in the fog.

The vanguard of the South Korean 6th Division is swaggering northward along the highway.

An officer sat in a jeep drinking coffee. Soldiers in a truck were dozing, rifles in hand. The artillerymen were still dragging their cannons, not yet at their firing positions.

Zhou Huan put down his binoculars and lowered his voice: "Pass on the order—fire at close range."

500 meters. 400 meters. 300 meters.

"beat!"

The first rocket roared out from the ambush position and accurately hit the lead vehicle.

The jeep turned into a fireball, and the officer's coffee cup flew into the sky.

Almost simultaneously, fire broke out from both sides of the valley.

The Type 56 semi-automatic rifle unleashed a crisp burst of fire, its theoretical rate of fire of thirty rounds per minute becoming a reality in combat.

—The U.S. military has never experienced such dense infantry automatic fire.

The Type 56 light machine gun unleashed its ammunition belts into the truck bed at a rate of 150 rounds per minute.

Steel-core bullets easily penetrate the soft steel protective plates of US military equipment.

South Korean soldiers jumped off the vehicle, but before they could form a formation, they were swept down by a second wave of bullets.

Even more terrifying were the soldiers carrying iron pipes similar to bazookas.

They crawled close to the road, knelt on one knee at a distance of 300 meters, and aimed.

The exhaust plume shot out from behind the rocket launcher, leaving a white trail in the morning mist.

The first shot hit the side of the tank, penetrating the 120mm thick rolled steel armor with the metal jet, and the ammunition inside the vehicle exploded, blowing the turret more than ten meters away.

Second shot.

The third shot.

One infantry squad, two rocket launchers, and six rounds of ammunition.

In 46 seconds, a South Korean tank platoon was destroyed.

The battle lasted less than twenty minutes. Only burning vehicles and prisoners lying on the ground with their hands covering their heads remained in the valley.

Zhou Huan looked down at his watch.

9:17.

He turned to the chief of staff and said:

"Report: Encounter at Liangshuidong."

Three hundred enemy soldiers were killed. Our army suffered seven wounded and three dead.

He paused, then added:

"We can fight this battle."

Yunshan, October 25th afternoon.

Colonel Palmer, commander of the 8th Cavalry Regiment, is in trouble.

He was a veteran of World War II, having fought in the Normandy beaches, the Ardennes Forest, and along the Rhine River.

He thought he had seen every battlefield in his life.

But at that moment, the sight through the telescope made him wonder if he was hallucinating.

Chinese tanks.

It was not a captured Japanese car with thin skin, nor a defective Sherman that was discarded during World War II.

It is a true, modern main battle tank.

A streamlined cast turret, a thick 100mm gun, and wide tracks traversing the frozen soil of North Korea.

It was more sophisticated and deadly than any Soviet or German tank he had ever seen.

The first round of firing took place at a distance of one kilometer.

Palmer's M26 Pershing opened fire.

The 90mm shell bounced off the Type 59's frontal armor, leaving only a shallow scorch mark.

The Type 59's turret slowly rotated.

The laser rangefinder locked onto the target within two seconds.

This was a technology that the U.S. military had never seen before in 1950.

The gunner pressed the firing button, and the 100mm armor-piercing projectile flew out of the barrel at twice the speed of sound.

Pershing's turret was completely overturned.

Three minutes later, only smoking wreckage remained of the tank company of the 8th Cavalry Regiment.

Five minutes later, the Type 59 tank rolled over the US forward positions.

Colonel Palmer sent his final telegram to division headquarters:

"The Communist army has tanks that are more advanced than ours. Requesting air support—urgent."

Air support has arrived.

Four F-80s entered at low altitude, ready to hunt down those steel monsters with rockets.

Then they saw those things.

On the mountain ridges of North Korea, a single-soldier shoulder-fired launcher has been set up at some point.

The infrared seeker detects the heat source at the F-80's tail nozzle, locks onto it, and launches.

The first missile hit the F-80's left engine.

The pilot didn't have time to eject, and the plane crashed into a ravine, trailing thick smoke.

The second and the third.

Of the four planes, only one returned.

The pilot who managed to return to base did not leave the cockpit for a long time after landing.

Ground crew pried open the hatch and found him trembling all over, only able to repeat one sentence:

"Their shells can curve. They can also track..."

September 7, Beijing.

Battle reports piled up on Leader Zhou's desk.

11月1日，云山战役结束。骑8团大部被歼，我缴获敌坦克21辆、火炮57门。

On November 3, our army recaptured Wenjing and Xichuan, and the US 24th Division withdrew 11 kilometers.

On November 5, the enemy forces retreated to the south of the Chongchon River.

Leader Zhou read through the letters one by one, very slowly.

The person standing nearby couldn't wait any longer: "Boss, didn't MacArthur say the war would end before Thanksgiving?"

Leader Zhou put down the battle report and joked with a smile.

"MacArthur? Let him go back and explain to the Thanksgiving turkey."

November 24, Qingchuan River.

Lieutenant General Ridgway stood on the high slope of the temporary command post, gazing at the north bank.

He had only been in charge of replacing Walker for three days.

The previous owner's jeep overturned into a ravine during the northward retreat, dying in what seemed like an accident, yet also like a metaphor.

The intelligence officer read the summary from behind:

"...more than 280 tanks have been lost."

The Air Force reported that air superiority north of the Chongchon River could no longer be secured starting November 15.

The number of the other side's new jet aircraft is estimated to be over 150, with performance superior to the F-80 and F-84, and comparable to the F-86 in terms of strengths and weaknesses.

What's more troublesome is that they have man-portable air defense systems, which are far more advanced than ours.

Our close air support, basically...

Ridgway interrupted him:

"Basically what?"

"Basically... it has stopped."

Ridgway remained silent.

He recalled Okinawa five years ago.

One hundred thousand Japanese soldiers were trapped in the cave, and they used bamboo poles to tie explosive charges to their Sherman tanks.

That was the most desperate scene of war he had ever seen.

Now he stands in the cold wind of North Korea, feeling as if his position has been reversed.

"General," the intelligence officer asked hesitantly, "can the war be ended by Thanksgiving...?"

Ridgway glanced at him.

That look made the intelligence officer regret speaking up.

May 25, 1950, dusk.

In Shenyang, the phone rang all day in Zhao Ping'an's office.

Ansteel asked whether the production quota for high-purity armor steel would be increased next month.

The Shenyang plant reported improvements to the forging process of the engine blades for the Type 2 fighter jet.

Daqing is asking about the pipeline schedule, specifically when the fifth atmospheric and vacuum distillation unit will arrive on site; they are currently waiting for it.

He responded to each request, allocated the funds, and signed off on them.

When I hung up the last phone call, it was already pitch black outside.

Zhao Pingan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

My eyelids were stinging, but those numbers kept flashing through my mind:

79 Type 59 tanks have been lost in battle, 61 have been repaired, and 120 new tanks have been rolled off the production line.

The total number of vehicles in operation has increased rather than decreased.

2型战斗机空战损失27架，击落敌机43架。交换比1:1.59。

The cadet pilots are compiling their combat experience into teaching materials, so that the next batch of new recruits will learn even faster.

More than 5 RPG-7 tanks have been issued. Reports from the front lines say that US tank crews now abandon their vehicles at the sound of that "whoosh" exhaust flame.

1200 anti-aircraft missiles were used, and the results are being tallied.

Is it enough?

It's still the same problem.

He opened his eyes and pulled a battle report from three days ago from the drawer.

It was an unnamed pass on the eastern front, where an infantry squad used rocket launchers and grenades to hold off an American armored company.

The entire class fought until they ran out of ammunition, with three soldiers killed and two seriously wounded.

The survivor was a new recruit, nineteen years old. His first words upon waking in the field hospital were:

"Platoon leader, where's my rocket launcher?"

Zhao Ping'an folded the battle report and put it back in the drawer.

enough.

he thinks.

With soldiers like these, that's enough.

Outside the window, the faint roar of engines could be heard in the night sky of Shenyang.

That was the 24th batch of Type 2 fighter jets flying to Andong today to replace the previous batch of aircraft that needed maintenance.

The sparks from the welding on the assembly line were still flashing.

He stood up, walked to the window, and gazed at the lights stretching for kilometers.

The fire in the stove never went out.

The wheels never stop.

The war has only just begun.